Third Wheel
by the color is blinding
Summary: It only takes one domino to fall to have a chain reaction on your hands. At first they tip slowly, but eventually everything comes crashing down. One seemingly harmless action resulted in what no one could have ever expected: death.
1. Part 1

–**Third Wheel—**

**Summary:**_ Sam thought that her life was as bad as it could have gotten, but she was wrong. Once she suddenly becomes the third wheel of her friend's newfound relationship, her feelings go out of control, and take a turn for the worse. Rated T for swearing, depression, and attempted suicide. One-sided Seddie. Rating subject to change. _

**Created By:**_ The Color is Blinding_

**A/N: **_Please read and reply. :) _

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_Third Wheel _

_Part 1—_

I am supposed to be the strongest.

I was never supposed to fall.

Now look at me.

Broken.

**88.**

Yes, I've counted.

It's not as if I have anything else to do with my life.

Because I don't.

—My life was shattered once **it** happened.

Damn them to Hell.

They put me in this prison.

This empty colorless hole.

I hate them.

I've never hated anyone more until now.

They win the prize by a landslide.

Ha.

I wish they had let me die.

I wish that fucking bitch had never even wondered where I was that night.

It's not as if I had seen her at all that week.

So why did she have to remember me **then**?

God must be out to get me.

Or the Devil is really on a roll.

Please pass me the knife, Doctor Lewis.

No, I'm not going to cut myself.

Cutting is for stupid girls.

What do I want with the knife? I want to cut my ham up into little pieces.

So I can eat them easier.

Oh, do you want to do it, Doctor Lewis?

Okay then. Okay, Doctor Lewis. Take away my freedoms even more.

Thank you, Doctor Lewis, for cutting my ham up into little pieces.

Yes, Doctor Lewis, I don't say things I don't mean anymore.

Remember, you told me that I should do that.

That maybe I'd be happier if I was genuine.

Well, guess what, Doctor Lewis?

I'm not.

My appointment with Doctor Steinbridge's this afternoon, is it not?

Yes, Doctor Lewis.

No, Doctor Lewis.

She's a whore, Doctor Lewis.

I'm sorry, Doctor Lewis.

What am I sorry for?

For telling the truth.

I can't call my therapist a whore anymore?

Then maybe she shouldn't be wearing **that**.

Okay.

I'm sorry, Doctor Lewis.

No, I'm just saying that to make you feel better.

I'm not actually sorry.

Why would I be?

Oh, because she's a very nice old lady who has devoted hours of her life trying to make me not as crazy as I already am?

I'm not crazy, Doctor Lewis.

Why would you say that?

Just because I tried to kill myself?

That doesn't make me crazy.

No, Doctor Lewis, it just makes me sane.

Why sane? Because it shows that I have feelings too.

That I'm not invincible.

I can be hurt too.

I appreciate your concern, but really, I'm fine.

Please, I'm sorry I disrupted you.

It's time for my group therapy session.

I have to meet up with Karen.

Karen's bulimic.

Yes, I've been trying to help her out.

Does she help me out?

No.

**No one **can help me.

The only people who could already turned their backs on me.

That's why I'm in this damn place.

I'm sorry I swore.

I'm sorry you don't want me to apologize anymore.

Yes, I'll be going now.

No, I haven't taken my medication yet.

I don't like it.

I don't like how it makes me feel.

It makes me feel…

Worthless.

You don't know why I'm here, Doctor Lewis.

I've been here for only 64 days.

**You've** been here for only 20.

Ha. Thank you, though.

I'm glad that you can talk to me about anything.

Usually it's supposed to be the other way around.

You know, the depressed suicidal teenager talking to the grown-up psychiatrist.

I'm not even your patient, you know.

You don't deal with suicide or depression cases.

So why did you decide to befriend me?

All of the other girls think I'm a lunatic.

Thank you.

It means a lot.

Well, I should be going.

Enjoy your day at _Westside Ocean View Psychiatric Hospital_. Don't go crazy,

I hate these hallways.

I hate how, despite my efforts, I can't seem to blend into the background.

No.

Maybe it's because I was once famous.

All of these girls know me.

It's humiliating.

I can hear their whispers.

**Look. It's Sam Puckett, you know, the girl from iCarly. **

**Why is she here?**

**Is she like us, too?**

**What did she do?**

**If she's here, where's—**

I always try to drown their voices before I hear their disgusting names.

I hate them.

It's their fault I'm here.

They put me in this place.

And then they left me.

They left me, and went out to enjoy themselves without me.

They're happy I'm not there anymore.

They're **happy**.

So happy, they forgot about me.

The last time they visited was never.

I'm jealous.

How I wish I could forget about them.


	2. Part 2

—**Third Wheel—**

**Summary: **_Sam thought that her life was as bad as it could have gotten, but she was wrong. Once she suddenly becomes the third wheel of her friend's newfound relationship, her feelings go out of control, and take a turn for the worse. Rated T for swearing, depression, and attempted suicide. One-sided Seddie. Rating subject to change. _

**Created By: **_The Color is Blinding_

**A/N: **_And this is it. How Sam attempted suicide. :) ENJOY... but not too much, because Sam's DYING! :(_

_Third Wheel_

_Part 2—_

…_You don't know why I'm here, Doctor Lewis. _

_I've been here for 64 days._

_**You've **__been here for only 20…_

**70 days earlier—**

The streets were soaked.

Of course, it was raining.

This **is** Seattle.

Full of people.

A lot more important people than me.

I am expendable.

They already made that clear.

She's kicked me out of her house three times already.

And why?  
Because I was disrupting their make-out sessions.

With **my presence in the building**.

Half the time I was in the studio, and they were downstairs. Or vice versa.

It's not as if I haven't seen them kiss before.

They do it every single day.

In front of me.

She **knew **I liked him.

So of course, being the bitch she is, she had to go out and take him for herself.

I hate her.

I wish she was dead.

But if she was, he wouldn't be happy.

He'd hate me.

And I could never bring him unhappiness.

So if she couldn't be dead, I could.

He could have her all to himself.

And he would be happy to be alone with her.

And she wouldn't have to worry about me stealing him.

—as if I could.

Who can compete with **her**?

She's pretty, curvy, "nice", "considerate", "funny"…

She's a slut.

Everything a guy would want.

And everything **he** would want.

I would easily trade my life in exchange for his happiness.

Because if he's happy, I'm happy.

And if me being dead means he's happy, my God I'll do it.

Just please.

Please don't let it hurt.

I don't want to be in pain.

So let it be fast, God.

Let me, please, leave this place as soon as I can.

Does suicide automatically send you to Hell?

Because if it does, thank you, God.

I'll be away from them, seeing as they're both perfect.

Perfect for each other.

The perfect couple.

Adorable.

Cute.

Mean to be together forever.

Everything I'm not.

The bottle is almost full.

I shake it, loving the sounds the pills make as they brush against each other.

Thank you, Mom, for just buying a new bottle of sleeping pills before the weekend.

And for leaving them at home when you were going to bring them to Vegas with you.

Thank you.

It's the first thing you've ever done right.

I hope you won't miss me as much.

You never were a good mother.

But you tried, I suppose.

The water sounds dull as it pours into my glass.

It bubbles to the top almost comfortingly.

I open the bottle, and pour its contents onto the counter.

My God.

There has to be at least one hundred.

One hundred little damned tickets to freedom.

The bottle says to take only one.

I will take one hundred.

I bring four up to my mouth and smile.

No one will miss me.

I'm not important.

No one has ever bothered to greet me these past few weeks.

No one even cares.

I throw the pills into my mouth

And swallow.

I grab more from the counter impulsively.

Swallow them.

Fear suddenly courses through me—

But I can't stop.

Swallow.

After swallow.

After damned swallow.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

My shaking hand feels the counter.

The bottle is knocked off of the counter.

The sole remaining pill is thrown to the floor.

I don't bother to pick them up.

Silence grips me.

Shock floods me.

Realization is coming slowly.

Dear God.

Please forgive me.

But I had to do this.

Everyone will be much happier now.

Everyone will be much better off now.

Please, God.

Please forgive me.

My knees give out on me.

It's not because of the pills yet—

It's because of fear.

I slide to the floor, and cry.

**I'm dying. **

**My God, I'm dying. **

Please, God.

Let them know that I did this for them.

Tell him I loved him.

Tell her I forgive her.

Tell my mom I'm sorry.

Tell everyone else that I'm happier now.

That I'm in a better place.

I loved them all.

They just didn't love me.


	3. Part 3

—**Third Wheel—**

**Summary: **_Sam thought that her life was as bad as it could have gotten, but she was wrong. Once she suddenly becomes the third wheel of her friend's newfound relationship, her feelings go out of control, and take a turn for the worse. __Rated T for swearing, depression, and attempted suicide. One-sided Seddie. Rating subject to change._

**Created By: **_The Color is Blinding_

**A/N: **_This is a shorter chapter, no, this is probably going to be the shortest yet. But, enjoy nonetheless. :) I'll try to upload another chapter soon, but currently I'm in the process of moving out of state, so don't expect anything soon. Sorry. :P Moving is really annoying, but I can't help it. _

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_Third Wheel_

_Part 3—_

…_Tell everyone else that I'm happier now. _

_That I'm in a better place. _

_I loved them all. _

_They just didn't love me…_

**Present—**

Karen doesn't trust me.

I don't blame her.

Why would you trust a suicidal teenager?

I don't know why I trust her.

We have nothing in common.

But maybe that's why.

She won't ever meet these people.

So I can tell her about them.

Of course, I don't expect anything in response.

She hasn't spoken to me once.

Come to think of it, she hasn't spoken to anyone.

Not her therapist.

Not her psychiatrist.

Not any other patients.

Maybe it's her way to rebel.

I don't blame her.

I rebel by speaking out.

Making friends with the forbidden.

People think I'm crazy.

But, I am, right?

I **did** try to kill myself, didn't I?

I've just caused more problems now that I'm alive.

Please.

God.

Why did you let this happen to me?

I was just trying to make life better.

But… now it's worse.

I feel sorry for everyone.

No—that's a lie.

I feel sorry for **her**.

I ruined her perfection.

No one wants a suicidal friend.

No one wants a friend like me.

No one wants to be associated with me.

—not even Karen.


	4. Part 4

—**Third Wheel—**

**Summary: **_Sam thought that her life was as bad as it could have gotten, but she was wrong. Once she suddenly becomes the third wheel of her friend's newfound relationship, her feelings go out of control, and take a turn for the worse. __Rated T for swearing, depression, and attempted suicide. One-sided Seddie. Rating subject to change._

**Created By: **_The Color is Blinding_

**A/N: **_Sorry about the long wait. I just moved into my house, so here you go. My house-warming gift to you. :D_

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_Third Wheel_

_Part 4—_

Sometimes, after a hard day,

A day that was especially unforgiving,

I dream of flying away.

To better times.

When I could walk around,

And be free of the shackles they put on me.

Free.

The word holds no meaning to me anymore.

What meaning could it possibly hold?

All I ever wanted was to be free.

Now look at me.

**Ridgeway High School**

I am invisible to the world.

The world is so blind.

I move through the hallways.

Dreams hover around me.

I reach out to catch them,

But they always shiver out of my way.

The dreams can see me.

And they are afraid.

—or at least they just don't want me to ruin their perfect images.

These hallways are always full of the silver, beautiful dreams.

Brimming with open possibilities.

Easily within reach for anyone who wants to take one.

I remember when I could have reached for a dream.

I remember when I could have been that person.

That incredibly talented, beautiful person who had the world in their palms.

I could have been that person.

But instead, I decided to leave the dreams be.

Let someone else take the chance.

They'd use it better than I ever could.

I will just be Sam.

Not ever really noticed, but there.

Not ever really praised, but acknowledged.

Not ever really realized, but observed.

I was fine with a life in the shadows.

I was okay with being the backup singer, so someone else could shine.

Most people didn't seem to understand that.

They just thought I was stupid,

Or not talented,

Or self conscious,

Or selfish,

Or…

The list went on and on.

Now they remember me by the suicidal girl.

At least they remember me, right?

I wasn't trying to be noticed, but it seemed that I was found.

I don't know if that's good or bad.

But I do know that I will never be able to show my face in this school again.

The bell shrills.

Loud, boisterous students flood the hallways.

The dreams leave the ceiling, and follow them,

They're almost as loud as the students.

I am not surprised to see that life has continued as normal in my absence.

I search for them.

I don't know why.

But I do.

I can't help myself.

Then, like a flashing light, there they are.

**Him** and **her**.

And to add to the cliché factor, people who used to be our friends surround them.

**Our **friends.

She giggles.

And tosses a deformed grape into the air.

He catches it in his mouth.

The onlookers clap for him.

He smiles in an almost embarrassed manner.

She just laughs, and turns her back to him, to face another girl, her smile large.

A moment passes.

He comes up behind her, and wraps his arms around her waist.

He rests his chin on her shoulder.

She smiles tenderly, and turns to plant a delicate, sincere kiss on his lips.

I look away.

It still hurts.

Even after all this time.

Its obvious they don't think about me anymore.

Why didn't they let me die?

I walk slowly to the doors.

I push them open, and step out into the sunshine—

Just as a tear falls rebelliously from my face.

I feel the world whip pass me, and I am gone.

Ridgeway is far behind me now,

And I am in a strange place.

It's pure, and suddenly I feel very out of place.

I am covered with blood—

And everything around me is white.

The people around me can **see** me.

Their glances are filled with pity.

I step hesitantly through the vineyard,

And wander to what looks like the main point.

A large, clean, natural building.

I knock on the door hesitantly.

A familiar figure opens the door,

And immediately I begin to cry.

I am filled with such unconditional love that it's overwhelming.

He doesn't have to say anything, but he reaches for my hand, even though it's stained.

I am happy for the first time in ages.

He speaks,

"Let's get you cleaned up."

I never thought those five words could have meant so much.

Another figure dressed in white, this time a woman, comes up to me.

"We've been waiting for you, Sam."

I kneel, and cry.

I haven't cried this hard in…

In a forever.

I am happy.

**I should have known it couldn't last.**

Just as I am about to take her hand, a white, fading wind whips across the strange world.

They smile through their own tears.

And then they are gone.

And I am alone.

So bitterly alone.

And so **cold**.


	5. Part 5

—**Third Wheel—**

**Summary: **_Sam thought that her life was as bad as it could have gotten, but she was wrong. Once she suddenly becomes the third wheel of her friend's newfound relationship, her feelings go out of control, and take a turn for the worse. __Rated T for swearing, depression, and attempted suicide. One-sided Seddie. Rating subject to change._

**Created By: **_The Color is Blinding_

**A/N:**_ A little background for this chapter. Karen is extremely religious. Sam... obviously, is not. Keep that in mind. Have a good one._

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_Third Wheel_

_Part 5—_

…_And I am alone. _

_So bitterly alone. _

_And so __**cold**__…_

I am standing by the window.

Looking out into what once used to be mine.

It's raining.

The raindrops slowly trickle down the windowpane.

Beyond the rain, is the ocean.

This **is** _Westside Ocean View_.

I lean against the side of the wall, not turning away from the view.

I was born because of an accident.

So was Melanie, I suppose, then.

Mom had drunken a bit too much.

Woke up in a stranger's bed.

Found out she was pregnant four weeks later.

"Do you know that God designed you to glow?"

I jump, and turn to face the speaker.

It's Karen.

She's looking at me, with tenderness in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, but you needed to know that you're special too." She said, reaching for my hand.

She touched my heart instead.

I feel the uncomfortable feeling of tears start to rise up.

One escapes my eyes, and falls, like the rain, down my cheek.

Karen smiles weakly.

"Thank you for being there for me when I needed a friend."

I shrug, but it only makes my tears come faster.

Karen pulls me into an embrace, and I can't hold back the pain any more.

I begin to unravel in a stranger's forgiving, caring arms.

How did you find me here, I murmur into her shoulder.

"You've been coming here every time it rains. You needed a friend, so I will be yours, as you were one for me."

Thank you.

"Remember, Sam, that you are greatest when you walk God. You don't have to prove your beauty in the eyes of man; you are perfect in His eyes." Karen whispers.

I was never one for religion, and I was never one to cry at some stupid belief.

But this hit me.

It was probably ridiculously nonsense, but it just filled me with so much hope.

Then the thought fills me.

What has God ever done for me?

Why would he think I'm special?

"Do you want to tell me about why you're here?" She asked after my sobs died down a little bit.

I shook my head. Thank you.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then, Sam. Good night."

She left me with my thoughts.

I was so happy that someone thought I was special.

That someone told me that God thinks I'm special, even though they're wrong.

That someone bothered to take the time out of the day to listen to what I have to say.

It touched my heart in a way I never thought possible.

That someone **cared**.

I had never felt so comforted, and at the same time I had never felt so loved.

God bless **you**, Karen.

Because **you** are the beautiful one, inside and out.

God bless you.


	6. Part 6

—**Third Wheel—**

**Summary: **_Sam thought that her life was as bad as it could have gotten, but she was wrong. Once she suddenly becomes the third wheel of her friend's newfound relationship, her feelings go out of control, and take a turn for the worse. __Rated T for swearing, depression, and attempted suicide. One-sided Seddie. Rating subject to change._

**Created By: **_The Color is Blinding_

**A/N:**_ You'll like this one. I can feel it. _

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_Third Wheel_

_Part 6—_

_..."I'm sorry, but you needed to know that you're special too." She said, reaching for my hand. _

_She touched my heart instead…_

Dr. Lewis isn't talking to me anymore.

I think I hurt her.

I didn't mean to hurt her.

Why does the truth hurt?

Why does it **ache**?

Karen isn't talking again.

Did she realize that what she did was taboo?

My room is small, but I like it.

I think **they** paid them enough to let me have my own.

All the other girls share.

Then again, I'm not like all the **other** girls.

Unfortunately, having your own room means having no door.

A nurse knocks outside my room.

"Samantha?"

**Sam.**

"You have a visitor. We're going to the visiting room to see them."

Who could possibly be visiting **me**?

Not **her**. Not **him**.

Unfortunately, the only way to find out is to go to the overly decorated visiting room.

God.

I hate that place.

It's so much more cheery than anywhere else in this shit hole.

I think it's that way so the place gets more clients.

What a stupid way of marketing.

I follow the slightly overweight nurse out of my cage.

The hallways aren't much more relieving; they are small, cramped.

In a failure to spruce things up, ugly pictures by Van Gogh litter the walls haphazardly.

It's almost sickening.

The nurse waddles unpleasantly.

I wonder if I stab her with a pen, if she will fizzle out like a balloon.

I won't try though. I'd probably get couple **more** years in this prison.

The hallways change color, from bland whites to disgusting puke yellows.

Probably for show.

They also widen. I have elbowroom for once.

The hallway opens up into the gross room splattered with photos of happy fake people.

I want to vomit.

For "safety reasons" you have to talk to the visitors a meter away.

I swear they thought about putting in those glass windows like in Hollywood prison movies.

I think they got all of their ideas from here.

Maybe an ancient director when to one of these "correctional facilities".

The nurse takes me to a quieter corner, away from the weeping family members.

My visitor is dressed in a dark navy suit.

To add to the cliché factor, he's wearing a dark hat that covers his eyes.

His hair is dark, swooped, and extrememly familiar.

No…

Why on earth would **he** be visitng **me**?

He lifts his head once I sit down.

A light enters into his eyes.

"Sam!"

I nod cautiously.

"I'm sorry I haven't ever visited, but Carly wouldn't let me. She said that it would be better if you were left alone."

Why does that not surprise me?

"So I decided to come while she was at… his house."

Thankfully he skirts around the topic of **him** and **them**.

"How've you been?"

I shrug. Nothing new, nothing old. You?

"It's not the same without you. I never wanted to send you to this place. I told Carly that this was something we could work out together. That you didn't need to come to such a place. But… Carly hasn't been acting the same ever since she got together with him."

I wince internally.

He shouldn't have to know the reasons of my captivity.

"So when are you coming out?"

Five more months, if the doctors are feeling generous.

"Holy crap, Sam. That's a lifetime from now."

I grimace.

Yeah. I know.

So… what's happened to iCarly?

He groans. "Horrible things."

Like…?

"Well they've completely erased any sort of memory of you. Your blog is deleted, all old clips with you have been deleted, and any sort of **mention** of your existence is prohibited. It's… it's not the same anymore. Viewers have dropped a ton, and Gibby stopped showing up to the shows. He's still a friend, but he decided that he wouldn't do iCarly without you."

Again, this doesn't surprise me. I try to change the conversation flow.

Done any good sculptures lately?

He shakes his head sadly. "I had to give up art. Our dad got really mad, and is making me go back to law school. That's why I'm in such fancy clothes…"

**This** surprises me.

What?

"Yeah. No more sculpting. He said I had to buckle down and finally get to work in something substantial."

No wonder Carly's gone so off the deep end, with parents like that.

He freezes.

I hastily try to make it not offensive: I'm sorry, but it's just what I think.

"I'm not shocked at what you think. It's just that you said it out loud."

I blink slowly.

"I agree with you completely. Carly has changed. And… it's not for the better. Ever since she got together with him, I don't think she's realized how much her life has crumbled around her. Do you realize she hasn't noticed that I have stopped sculpting? That was four weeks ago, Sam."

I avoid his sad, empty eyes.

"The world is falling apart without you, Sam. We miss you."

I stand up, making ready to leave.

I won't deal with this sort of nonsense.

I'm sorry. I have to go. Group therapy session now.

"No, Sam. **I'm** sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't have protected you from her. I'm sorry you're stuck here. I'm sorry for letting the place where you used to stand vanish. I'm sorry my sister…"

I wait for him to say it before I leave for good.

"I'm sorry she's a bitch."

I smile.

For once, someone sees it my way.

Thanks for coming, Spencer. It really means a lot to me.

He doesn't respond. He just stands up, and leaves.

A nurse quickly comes to collect me.

And I am placed back inside my cage.

Quietly.

Like I had never even left it in the first place.


	7. Part 7

—**Third Wheel—**

**Summary: **_Sam thought that her life was as bad as it could have gotten, but she was wrong. Once she suddenly becomes the third wheel of her friend's newfound relationship, her feelings go out of control, and take a turn for the worse. __Rated T for swearing, depression, and attempted suicide. One-sided Seddie. Rating subject to change._

**Created By: **_The Color is Blinding_

**A/N: **_Thanks again, for the amazing reviews! A cookie to Goodlittlemormongirl who spotted some lyrics I had thrown in part 5. Just hold onto your ropes… things are going to turn for the worse in the next few parts… Please review, you have __**no**__ idea how much it means to me. Thanks again for sticking with me—and with Sam—for so long. Let the chaos ensue shortly._

_Third Wheel_

_Part 7—_

…_I smile._

_For once, someone sees it my way..._

The lights flutter almost nervously.

Then it is dark.

Night is not a time for sleeping here.

It is the time to remember the acts we try to forget.

And every single night I am spirited away.

Every night it is the same experience.

Experience doesn't make you better.

Experience just teaches you to recognize a mistake when you've made it again.

It was the day after **they** got together.

Still in that "Honeymoon" phase.

Ogling each other.

Caressing each other—

It made me sick.

So I pushed myself between the two lovebirds.

And…

**He **was the one to get mad at me.

**He **was the one to yell at me to disappear.

That I didn't have a part in this relationship of theirs.

That if I wanted to be their friend still, I couldn't just barge my way in.

That what **they** had was something special.

And that I had no place being with them.

Then **she** agreed.

**She** told me to grow up.

To leave them alone.

To get a life.

To actually understand what it was like to **be in love**.

To stop.

But I got her true meaning.

It was that I had lost.

And that **she** had won.

—as usual.

So I went upstairs, as I had no other place to go.

And I tried to pretend that I couldn't hear them making out—

They weren't quiet.

I tried to distract myself with watching television.

Then I heard silence.

And **her** footsteps came marching up the stairs.

She opened the door angrily.

"Sam. Leave. Now."

Why? I didn't do anything.

"Because you're bothering Freddie. He feels unhappy with you here right now. So **go**."

I flinched.

And I left.

It took me two more times like that to realize that they never really wanted to see me again.

So I left for good.

And I would have left permanently, if not for that disgusting stroke of fate.

Someone once told me that evil was just an anagram for live.

And good is just one for go do.

And people wonder why there's so much "evil" in this world.

Speaking of, I think **they** are prime examples of evil. They're **vile**, and blinded by a **veil**.

They didn't happen to see me suffering in the background earlier.

So why did they bother to see me **then**?

They only thing they're good at is ruining my life—

Wait.

They're good at ruining Spencer's life as well.

So never mind.

It wasn't like anyone was paying attention anyways.

No one ever does.


	8. Part 8

—**Third Wheel—**

**Summary: **_Sam thought that her life was as bad as it could have gotten, but she was wrong. Once she suddenly becomes the third wheel of her friend's newfound relationship, her feelings go out of control, and take a turn for the worse. __Rated T for swearing, depression, and attempted suicide. One-sided Seddie. Rating subject to change._

**Created By: **_The Color is Blinding_

**A/N: **_I __**love**__ this part, so I couldn't help but post it up here as soon as I could. It's hideously depressing, but for some strange reason it just hit me deep. I'd __**love**__ to hear your opinions on this part, so if you could just spend __**five**__ or __**less**__ minutes out of your day to click the review button, or send me a PM I would be eternally grateful. Here we go. Let the chaos shortly ensue. _

_Third Wheel_

_Part 8—_

…_So never mind. _

_It wasn't like anyone was paying attention anyways. _

_No one ever does…_

It's the time of day the nurses call Free Time.

Ridiculous, if you ask me.

But you didn't.

I wander aimlessly throughout the hallways, avoiding eye contact.

In four days it will be **her** birthday.

I should probably get her a gift.

Wait, why am I even **thinking** about getting **her** a **gift**?

It's not like she's done anything for me.

But maybe I should.

Show her that I have some peace of mind.

That at least I **remember** her.

Or maybe to shock her into realization that there is a living breathing **person** inside of me.

That all I wanted was to **escape**, so they **imprisoned** me.

That she ruined my life.

First by breaking my heart.

Then by throwing me out.

And then by finding me when I didn't want to be found.

After that by tossing me in here.

Finally, she forgot me.

It's like when you were little, and your pet dog wasn't behaving.

So you shut him in a closet.

Planning on returning in just a few minutes.

But instead, you forget.

And he's left in there for hours, wondering what he did to get in there.

Wondering where you are.

Confused.

Lost.

Lonely.

But then you remembered hours later.

And then you rushed to where you thought you left him.

Only to find him limp on the floor.

Starved.

Parched.

And then you cry.

Because this was **your** fault.

If you hadn't left him in the closet, he would still be alive today.

But you did.

And he's gone.

He's never coming back.

I wonder where I will be when **she** remembers.

Will I be mostly dead, or barely alive?

There's a difference.

I wonder which side I fall to.

Mostly dead.

Barely alive.

Barely alive sounds more painful.

So that's obviously where I am.

I haven't been **whole** for years.

No one seemed to notice that.

I don't understand why not.

Is it really so hard to see that I am missing half of myself?

Just because it's not physical doesn't mean it's real.

Because I'd rather have no arms or legs then be like how I am right now.

I don't know if suicidal people have souls in heaven.

Are they allowed to have them, even though they tried to rip them away from themselves once before?

I doubt it.

I always **knew** I was going to Hell.

I just wish I could have already gotten there.

Because Hell is bound to be better than here.

Anything would.


	9. Part 9

—**Third Wheel—**

**Summary:** _Sam thought that her life was as bad as it could have gotten, but she was wrong. Once she suddenly becomes the third wheel of her friend's newfound relationship, her feelings go out of control, and take a turn for the worse. Rated T for swearing, depression, and attempted suicide. One-sided Seddie. Rating subject to change. _

**Created By:** _The Color is Blinding_

**A/N: **_I felt like branching out for a change. I'm not sure if I really like it. Speaking of, I'm sorry if I've been posting this parts up here too fast. Do you want more parts faster, or slower? Anyways, here's a lovely little scene from what was happening inside of _Westside Ocean View… _from our own **Doctor Lewis's point of view**! Please review, and tell me what you're thinking of how this story's coming along. _

_Also, I thank StoryTeller125 for the marvelous words of encouragement and praise, and for the idea. It means so much. _

_Third Wheel _

_Part 9—_

I hadn't been at the juvenile ward of Westside Ocean View for very long when I met Sam. I don't see why everyone else was wary when speaking of her. But almost immediately after I introduced myself, I could see why everyone else was so timid around the girl.

She was proud and rowdy, but even I could tell that she was broken inside. It's like something horrible happened to her, so she decided that it wasn't worth it anymore to live.

Of course, something horrible **had** to have happened for her to be put in this place because of attempted suicide. Though I don't think that the treatment methods actually do her any good. The only thing that might work, according to what she's told me, is actually returning to her home and working this out through her own means, not through someone else's feeble attempts to help her assimilate to normal living activities. But how can that even happen when she refuses to show up to her scheduled appointments with various "experts" of teen depression?

Personally, I question the legitimacy of her placement in this facility. No one in their right mind would have sent such a free spirit as Sam Puckett to this place without either a) wanting to get rid of her, or b) hallucinating. Not to mention, she has no living relatives. Her mother died months before she attempted suicide, and that wasn't the reason why. She specifically **told** her first therapist that she hated her mother, and was actually slightly happy that she had passed away.

Colonel Steven Shay, who was out serving for the U.S. Navy, had adopted Sam not too long afterwards. However, I don't think that he could have completely understood the situation enough to make the decision to send Sam here. Someone else must have influenced him to make the final choice to, as Sam says, imprison her.

But what do I know? I deal with eating disorders; that's my specialty. I couldn't help Sam even if I tried. But when I think about it, I could probably do a better job getting to the bottom of this girl's depression than anyone else here.

Or that could just be pride. And Sam said I always **was** full of myself. But I wouldn't know, no one else really bothers to talk to me.

::

I was in the dining hall, concentrating on **not** looking up at Sam. It was hard, considering that she was glaring at me the entire time. I felt bad that I never spoke with her anymore, but what I was ordered to do, I had to do. And when _Westside_'s chief doctor, Dr. Gurney came up to me telling me to never to speak with that girl again, I had to obey, unless I wanted to be fired.

I had worked **so hard** to even be considered for this position. I was barely scraping by financially before, and now some of the weight was lifted off. I could not afford to loose this job. It was horrible. I was tied down to do what I had never wanted to do as a student: **not** help the people in need. That's why I decided to major in psychology, and in eating disorders. I felt like I could help so many people.

But once I got here, I realized the one person I felt like I could help was forbidden to me. These girls I council with, they **know** what's wrong with them, and they **admit** it. But Sam is a completely different matter.

**She **knows what's wrong, but she won't tell anyone. It's like she's locking herself up, so no one can hurt her. But who in their right mind would purposefully try to hurt a depressed girl?

I just want to lift some of her burden off of her shoulders.

I just want to help ease her suffering.

But I know I can't, and that's a mistake I know I'll have to live with.


	10. Part 10

—**Third Wheel—**

**Summary:** _It only takes one domino to fall to have a chain reaction on your hands. At first they tip slowly, but eventually everything comes crashing down. One seemingly harmless action resulted in what no one could have ever expected: death. _

**Created By:** _the color is blinding_

**A/N: **_Heeeey! I changed the summary, if you have not noticed yet. Anyways, your input is greatly appreciated. Again, I ask you for reviews, and kudos again to those who gave me the inspiration to write this part. You know who you are. _

_Speaking of this part, it wasn't at all easy to write, as it reminded me of some painful personal experiences, so I apologize if it's not good. I originally had planned to have this in third person, but I couldn't capture the depth I had wanted. That could also mess with the emotional connection in here. And that's my greatest motive. I only wanted, really, to be able to capture the emotions felt. And about now I should stop rambling and get on with it. _

_Third Wheel_

_Part 10—_

It had been a very long time—too long—since I had last seen Sam. But I couldn't make myself go through that kind of torture. It just hurt too much to see that empty, dead look in her eyes. But, if it hurt me too much to even **think** about her, how much does it hurt **her**?

Any sort of mention of her name cut me deeper than anyone could ever have imagined. So I got Freddie to erase everything that mentioned Sam on iCarly, in an attempt to try and make it not hurt so much for myself. It was selfish, but I can't think of her anymore without dying a bit more inside. I told myself that it was for the good of everyone that if I tried to pretend she didn't exist it wouldn't ache at nights as much. It would sting to remember that **I** had convinced my father enough to make sure she was sent to the juvenile ward at Westside Ocean View Psychiatric Hospital, so I tried as hard as I could **not** to remember. Anything at all, maybe, could help. I just wanted her to disappear from my memory, so I could try to repair the broken fragments of my life. So that I could tie up relationships, and end some. To wrap up the shattered heart that used to hold the place Sam lived.

I tried to make Spencer and Freddie never go visit her, lying to myself that she would be better off alone. I know Spencer went to see her when I was still dating Freddie but I couldn't make myself stop him. I couldn't bear to cause other people pain. I have only tried to make it not hurt as much for everyone. That's why I came up with the idea of sending her away, that's why I tried to pretend that this wasn't my fault, when clearly, it was.

If only I hadn't told her to leave that last time, if only I hadn't lied to her, if **only** I hadn't broken her heart by taking Freddie when I **knew** she liked him. If only I hadn't been such a bitch, if only I had been a good friend. I feel so **empty** inside now.

The game of pretending to love Freddie that I played used to be fun but is now horrible. I can't bring myself to look in Freddie's eyes anymore without thinking of her. Whenever he kissed me, I remembered that he kissed Sam first. Freddie broke up with me only a month or so ago. He said that he didn't remember what he saw in me in the first place, and that I couldn't control his life anymore. That he needed some space, and if I planned to keep acting how I am, I'll have no friends.

Not that I do anyways. After Freddie broke up with me, the people I thought were my friends scattered and left in their wake a bitter loneliness that won't ever go away.

I told Dad that Spencer dropped out of law school about five weeks before Freddie broke up with me. I was feeling so empty. I wanted someone else to feel my emptiness, but I regret ever telling Dad. He made Spencer go back to law school, and joy has trickled out of his life. What used to be a spastic, happy brother turned into a sad and lonely man.

I ruined my life, and I ruined Freddie's life, and I ruined Spencer's life and I ruined everyone's lives. I ruined Sam's life most of all. I hope she realizes that I only did this because I was trying to protect her from myself. I'm a monster.

No one I know is happy anymore. Freddie withdrew into school, trying to make him forget about all of the memories he had of Sam, trying to dull the numbness that settled over all of us. Spencer concentrated on his studies miserably, trying to forget about happier times, trying to not think of the girl who used to brighten up his days unintentionally. I shrank into a shell, hardly recognized the time between consciousness and unconsciousness. My grades slipped quickly from straight As to Fs. I stopped caring for myself, knowing that the only care I could do anymore was the sort that hurt people.

Sam doesn't know about any of this, but if she did, she would laugh at me. She probably thinks I'm living on top of the world, happy that she's locked up in some correctional facility, when I'm not. She probably thinks I'm happy with Freddie, that every day he hugs me and kisses me, when he didn't even do that for the last two months of our relationship.

I'm slipping, Sam. I'm loosing sight of the light. I just want to fall asleep into the darkness and never wake up until you are **you** again. Until you are **happy** again. But will you ever be happy again? Will you ever come and say goodbye to me, before I finally slide into the darkness, which even I know will happen soon?

Will you ever forgive me, Sam, for ruining a life that used to be good to you? Once you come out of there, nothing will **ever** the same.

Sam, I'm sorry. But there's nothing I can do anymore. I just want to fall asleep, and never wake up.

I don't wonder why you tried to do it anymore. Because I feel like that now. Because I wonder what would happen if I stopped living.

But I couldn't do that to Spencer. I love him so much; I don't think he would ever forgive me for trying to get out easy. He tries **so hard** every single day, so I can't take my own life away when he never did.

If your mom had been alive then, would you still have done it? If Melanie had actually spoken to you within a few weeks of it, would you still have tried? If someone had told you that you were important that day, would you still be emotionally well?

You were** always** important to me, Sam. I may have not shown it, but you were, and I loved you. You were the sister I never had. You understood me when no one else did. So why didn't I understand you? 


	11. Part 11

—**Third Wheel—**

**Summary: **_It only takes one domino to fall to have a chain reaction on your hands. At first they tip slowly, but eventually everything comes crashing down. One seemingly harmless action resulted in what no one could have ever expected: death. _

**Created By: **_the color is blinding_

**A/N: **_Thank you all so much for the extremely kind reviews. It truly means so much to me. Tell me what you think of this. As usual, reviews make my life shine brighter. Special mentions go out to all those who have given me so much praise that I am not deserving of. I'm sorry for the long wait... the inspiration that used to come so easily is slowly slipping away. My ending is almost finished, its the points to get to that ending. Suggestions are appreciated, though not always used. This is the halfway point, and our story is only just beginning… _

_Third Wheel—_

_Part 11_

There is a point in life when you have a desire to try again.

That's why I decided randomly one day to try again.

—to try and kill myself again.

I figured it wasn't going to be easy, so I might as well start planning.

The problem was, I wasn't sure **how** I was even going to do it.

I've heard stories about girls who drowned themselves in the toilets.

I've heard stories about girls that clawed their eyes out with their own hands.

I've even heard stories about girls who cut themselves with the corner of the beds, so they bled out.

And then there are those girls like me.

Who took the easy way out.

Who just swallowed pills—so it wouldn't hurt.

People used to look at me and think that pain never fazed me.

They were wrong.

I am so afraid of being **hurt**—and I was.

I can't handle emotional pain.

—which doesn't make sense.

I caused so many other people pain.

But I never really intended it to hurt.

People used to look at me and wonder why I was so mean.

I wasn't intentionally trying to be mean.

I was just trying to hold my own.

To let people know that yes, I can stand up for myself.

Because I can never erase those scars.

The scars given to me by someone I thought I could trust.

By someone I thought I loved.

But I was wrong.

They hurt me.

It wasn't physical.

I can stand the bruises, and the breaks, and the burns.

But the jagged rips that shredded through my heart never really healed.

So when **she** ripped the scars open,

They couldn't heal.

And I was broken.

When someone you love does you harm,

It takes all of your strength to hate them for what they did.

And even then, most can't do it.

If people say that hate is such a strong word, and that we shouldn't throw it around, then tell me why people use love so easily, when love is even stronger.

I love smoothies.

I love Fridays.

I love school.

I love food.

I love happiness.

I loved hugs.

I loved my mom.

I loved Carly.

I loved Spencer.

I loved life.

I loved Freddie.

I loved a lot of things.

But to be honest,

I couldn't tell you now what I hate.

I don't **really** hate **them** for putting me in here.

They don't have to see me.

They're happier.

And wasn't that my whole purpose in killing myself?

To make people happier?

So why did I complain about this?

Me being in this place makes everyone else happier.

So I myself should be happy.

But…

I can't bring myself to happiness.

I will never **ever** be truly happy until either I am dead…

Or they are.


	12. Part 12

—**Third Wheel—**

**Summary: **_It only takes one domino to fall to have a chain reaction on your hands. At first they tip slowly, but eventually everything comes crashing down. One seemingly harmless action resulted in what no one could have ever expected: death._

**Created By: **_the color is blinding_

**A/N:**_Okay. So. This chapter was freakishly hard to write. I got all caught up in writing the ending, so I totally lost my track of inspiration for this one. :P So, I'm sorry if this chapter has a poor quality than usual. Ugh. Sorry. I totally really hate this part. _

_Thank you reviewers, and I still love to hear what you have to say about how awful this freakishly short part is._

_Last thing before this note gets longer than the chapter: Kissy Fishy, I love you to death, and I miss you a ton. Thank you so much for reading this and for recommending Third Wheel on your story, even though it's in a completely different genre. :D I can't tell you how much it means to me._

...

_Third Wheel—_

_Part 12_

…_There is a point in life when you have a desire to try again._

_That's why I decided randomly one day to try again…_

It's Free Time as usual when Karan races up to see me.

I'm actually sitting in the lounge area for the first time of my entire stay at this prison.

Karen looks too happy for something to be wrong.

I don't want to have anyone expect me to be happy in return.

**Send her away**.

Of course.

I take the easy way out.

As usual.

"Sam! I have something I wanted you to take a look at."

I look at her once, and shake my head.

She wilts. "Okay then."

Just as she's about to walk away, something inside me tells her to call her back.

Sorry, I'm just busy right now. What did you want me to see?

Karen turns around and comes up to me.

"I've been writing poetry. It's horrible, but I wanted to show you first, since you're my only friend here."

A small flicker of appreciation lights up deep in my heart, but it is easily extinguished.

I hesitantly take the paper from her hand.

"Go on, read it!" She says too brightly.

Reluctantly, I take a look at the paper.

**Hope is its own thing,**

**Fear is another,**

**But both of these bring out the best in each other.**

Karen smiles apprehensively and takes back the paper from me.

"What do you think?"

I shrug.

It's pretty good.

Karen grins. "You really think so?"

I nod. Yeah. It's nice.

Karen gives me a hug out of the blue.

I back away quickly.

"Sorry," she murmurs quietly.

It's okay.

The following silence is awkward, and tense.

Karen shifts her weight.

"Since you gave me some of your time to help me out, is there anything I can do?"

I sit for a moment on the chair quietly.

Suddenly inspiration sparks.

Actually, there is something you can do.

Karen tilts her head curiously.

"What is it?"

I pause.

Should I really ask her this?

I could get her into so much trouble.

I don't want her to get charged with what I want her to do.

-it could end badly.

But I have to.

I meet Karen's eyes.

I want you to help me kill myself.


	13. Part 13

—**Third Wheel—**

**Summary: **_It only takes one domino to fall to have a chain reaction on your hands. At first they tip slowly, but eventually everything comes crashing down. One seemingly harmless action resulted in what no one could have ever expected: death._

**Created By: **_the color is blinding_

**A/N:**_I cannot describe really how much I really appreciated all of your reviews. A few really hit me deep. I honestly don't think that I write very well at all, so it means so much to me to hear that people like my stories… _

_A shout-out to JunoLuv, who recommended Third Wheel on her own story (which is easily better than mine). Thank you so much. You are amazing. :D_

_Tell me what you think about this part, give me a few seconds of your time. I will be eternally grateful. This chapter is for all those who have stuck with Sam—and me—from the beginning. If you notice, it's split up into a couple different parts. Originally, I had planned to post those up singularly, just to build up the suspense, and to show more of Sam's deterioration, but since I'm feeling generous, here they are all combined. _

_Enough said. Enjoy watching Sam fall apart… if you can… _

…

_Third Wheel—_

_Part 13_

…_I want you to help me kill myself…_

Karen looks at me with blank, wide eyes.

"Why do you want to kill yourself?"

I look away.

It's none of your business.

Karen's eyes soften. "This is something you need to work out. But I won't help you. I don't like it, but I can tell that you need to do this."

I shrug.

It's what I expected.

Karen shudders. She opens her mouth as if to say something.

But she closes it.

And walks away.

::

I'm not stupid.

I knew Karen went straight to Dr. Lewis—her therapist—to tell her.

It was during one of Karen's personal therapy sessions.

I lingered outside the doorway.

And listened through the wood.

Directly below the small metal plaque saying in large letters **Emily Lewis**.

"I asked her what I could do to help, so she told me that she wanted me to help her commit suicide," Karen explained.

"What did you say to that?"

"That I couldn't do that. She didn't tell me why, when I asked her."

Cue the sigh from Dr. Lewis.

"Karen, Samantha Puckett has lived a troubled life so far. She probably feels that the only way she can make her troubles go away is to kill herself. Can you be a double agent for me? Go back and agree to help her."

I won't let her help me.

"Find out how she plans on doing it, and tell me as soon as possible. I don't care if it is in the middle of the night, but let me know immediately. It would be wise if you didn't tell anyone else about this, okay?"

"Okay. What if she doesn't tell me anything?"

"Then I suppose you'll just have to try harder," Dr. Lewis sounds like she herself is going through pain.

::

People used to think the world was flat, and if you walked far enough, you'd just fall off.

Vanish.

But know they know that you'll just end up back where you started.

I feel like I'm walking in circles. Around the world.

Back to the starting point.

Going nowhere.

Ever.

At all.

Never moving forward.

Like life is in a standstill.

Pointless.

::

Time moves differently when you're locked up in a prison.

It comes and goes in fast and slow.

Lurches.

Like a new driver is learning how to brake.

It's harsh.

Unexpected

And so utterly **painful**.

Sometimes you hardly could tell that it passed from morning to midnight in only a matter of seconds.

Other times, minutes seem like days.

I've been thinking for a long while.

Alone in my room.

It gives me time to decide.

And I've decided.

I need Karen's help after all.

::

Free Time.

I search for Karen almost urgently.

**desperately**

I'm running out of options.

I need to act

I need to act fast

Fast

Faster

Fastest

Quick

Quicker

Quickest

Soon

Sooner

Soonest

Bad

Worse

Worst

Falling

Down

Can't

Stop

Help

Me

I

Think

I

Am

Going

Crazy

Someone  
Please

Make

It

End

Now

::

There.

I go up to her.

Haven't showered in days.

I stink.

She can tell.

"Yes?"

Karen looks like laughing

**Need to escape.**

I could use your help

Karen hesitates. "With killing yourself?"

I nod

**Need to run. **

She looks around.

"Okay."

I smile.

**Need to hide.**

Meet me in my room tonight.

Please.

Karen flinches.

"When?"

**Need to scream. **

Midnight.

She nods.

"I'll be there."

**Need to die. **

::

The clock ticks.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Time is slipping away.

**11:56**

Tick.

Tick.

Tock.

**11:57**

Footsteps outside the doorway.

She's coming.

**11:58**

She comes into my room.

Are you ready?

She shakes her head.

"I never will be."

**11:59**

Tie this around my neck.

I give her a plastic bag that I stole from a nurse.

She takes it.

And slowly

But quickly

She pulls it over my head.

And ties it tight.

Make it tighter.

She does so.

My nose presses against the plastic uncomfortably.

**12:00**

The pressure on my neck increases.

It hurts.

I can't feel any sort of other air.

I thank her.

Thank you.

She backs away.

And then she runs.

Pitter

Patter

There she goes

How long will this take.

Then

Comes

The

Fear

Of

Death

But

I

Am

Not

Afraid


	14. Part 14

—**Third Wheel—**

**Summary: **_It only takes one domino to fall to have a chain reaction on your hands. At first they tip slowly, but eventually everything comes crashing down. One seemingly harmless action resulted in what no one could have ever expected: death._

**Created By: **_the color is blinding_

**A/N: **_Okay. You probably hated me for that ending. I'm getting good at killer cliffhangers. :D It's not over though. We have a long ways to go. __But what happens now? You're going to hate me again._

_I'm not sure I got her voice right at all, but it's the best I can do right now. Not exactly having the best writing week of my life... :P _

_Again, I ask you for your opinions. Love it? Hate it? Tell me._

* * *

_Third Wheel—_

_Part 14_

I learned something today. I learned that to be able to hate someone, you first have to be able to love that same person. It makes absolutely no sense, but in a strange twisted way, it does. You can never **truly** hate someone until you **know **them, but to truly **know **them, you had to have at least have **loved** them. I don't speak from experience. I speak from being the hated.

Freddie Benson.

I love him, you see. But I didn't **love** him. He loved me, and everyone knew it. Freddie made it obvious, in an attempt to win my affections. It didn't work. And no one thought it would have. But I finally said 'yes' one day, and everything fell apart. One small, stupid decision led to this, **this utter chaos**.

He hates me now. He told me—to my face. Today.

I had been just walking down the hallways, feeling alone and out of place as usual, when I saw Freddie, leaning against a locker, laughing—**laughing**—with friends. I had to walk by him to get to my next class, and as I did so, everyone stopped talking, and a strange uncomfortable silence hovered over the hallway. I had walked by quickly, and as soon as I had entered the room, everyone burst out into laughter directed at me, I presumed. I had slumped down miserably in my desk's chair, when I had the sudden strange urge to talk to Freddie.

I had stood up, walked straight off of the room, and walked right in front of Freddie Benson.

"I need to talk to you," I had said.

Freddie had narrowed his eyes. "Make this quick, Shay."

It had stung, but I ignored that the fact that **he had called Sam by her last name**. "I want to talk to you about Sam."

The words had just raced out of my mouth uncalled for. Freddie had looked at me, with disgust all over his face.

"I don't want to talk about Sam, Carly." His voice had been laced with cold fury.

I had flinched. "Why not? She was your friend too!"

"Too? Carly, you hadn't been Sam's friend! You tossed her in the loony bin, and you still call her **a friend**? What on earth is **wrong** with you?" Freddie had started to yell. People had stared.

"Wrong with **me**? I was just trying to do what was right for Sam!" I had countered feebly.

"Then you're idea of what's right is seriously messed up," he had spat, and then made as if he was going to walk away.

"Don't walk away from me, Freddie!" I had shouted angrily.

Freddie had stopped, and turned to face me. "I believe you walked away from Sam. You walked away from Spencer, and you walked away from me. You've become a **monster**, Carly."

He had paused, and I had waited for him to continue as I was speechless.

"I hate you, Carly. You've wrecked lives, and no one will **ever** forgive you. I **hate** you," he had said plainly. He then walked away, and I had let him go.

Slowly people that had gathered to watch from afar drifted away. I, instead of going to my class, slid to the floor, and cried bitter tears of regret.

The tears of one who had simply decided, instead of saying no, to say yes. The tears that have been shared by millions, but honestly felt by only a few: the broken, the beaten, the hated, the regretful, the lost, and the damned.

Or in others words, the ones like me.


	15. Part 15

—**Third Wheel—**

**Summary: **

**Created By: **_the color is blinding_

**A/N: **_Well, well, well… it seems your wait to see what's going on in Sam world isn't over yet. More from outside _West Side_, and yet again more buildup to the chaos that is ensuing. _

_Again, I ask you for your thoughts and reviews. Thank you for the ones I received. _

_Oh, and PsychoticAppleSauce, I hope you catch the barely- hinted-at Spam I threw in there just for you. _

_Enjoy~_

_Third Wheel—_

_Part 15_

I had never really given any thought to how awful my life is until today. And it hurt enough to convince the nurse that I needed to go home. I walk in the house, trying to maintain my composure. Spencer is sitting at the table when I close the door. He is leaning over a thick book, and he looks absolutely miserable. I try to sneak upstairs without him seeing me, but he turns at the wrong second, and his eyes widen with mild surprise.

"Skipping school, Carly?" he murmurs.

I shake my head. "I don't feel well."

He narrows his eyes suspiciously. "You look fine… did something happen at school today? Come here, talk to me about it."

Even after I ruined his life, Spencer still somehow loves me and cares about me. It's strange, knowing that he knows that I told Dad, and that he forgives me for doing so.

I shrug, but Spencer is persistent. "I know that look. You need to talk. Come here."

I drop my bag onto the couch and walk slowly to the table and sit down. "There's nothing to talk about," I say plainly.

"There's always something to talk about." He looks me in the eye, as if he is searching my soul, picking through the memories.

"Like?"

Spencer sighs, and his expression changes to one of utter and complete stinging disappointment. "Anything, Carly. We haven't talked, just **talked**, in weeks and weeks. I'm worried about you."

"There's nothing to be worried about. I'm **fine**, trust me."

"That's the thing… I **can't** trust you, Carly. You've left school so many times and you won't give me any sort of reason whatsoever! I have no idea what you've been up to this past month, for all I know you could be out doing drugs and having sex, Carly!" He starts to yell.

"Do you **want** me to talk about it?" I shout, standing up. "Do you **want** me to tell you about how crappy my life has been? Do you **want** me to tell you that ever since Sam went crazy and got tossed in the loony bin my life has fallen apart?"

Spencer stands frozen. "I hope you realize that **you** were the one who put Sam in _West Side_."

I narrow my eyes. "Of **course** I realize that! I only did it because I freakin' cared about her!"

"No, you don't. If you **cared**, you would have let Sam figure it out. If you had **cared**, you would have realized that she is a living, breathing person, and that all she ever wanted was to be loved for **who she is**. You destroyed her when you got together with Freddie. You're the reason for all of this. It's not Sam's fault—it's **yours**!" He glares at me.

"What on earth are you talking about? I have **always** cared about Sam, and that's why I decided to send her there! It was for her own good!"

Spencer shakes his head coldly. "No, it wasn't. It was for **your** own good." He walks away, leaving me alone.

The truth of that statement stings. Unwanted emotion springs up behind my eyes and I can't stay here. I have to get out.

I throw open the door and race to the stairwell; I can't bother to use the elevator. I run down the steps jumping three or four sometimes five and somehow I make it to the bottom quickly. Gasping for breath, I push open the lobby's door and walk out into the cold crisp air and the unforgiving rain and let my feet carry me wherever.

It hurts. My own brother doesn't believe me; he doesn't think I care, when I **do**.

I look up from the pavement and absolute terror floods me. A small little FORCLOSURE sign is posted in front of the small green house and no, no, **no** this can't be happening. Why on earth did I have to walk **here** to this place, when the only reason I used to is to pick her up and rescue her from her mom…

I don't want to go inside the house but I have to. The floor creaks, just like it used to, and it smells just like a strange mixture of alcohol and cigarette smoke, like it used to. And there are the stairs, falling apart, just like they used to. And at the top of the staircase is her old room, painted the same lime green just like it was before and there underneath the radiator is a small picture taped to the bottom of me, her, and Freddie smiling, just like before.

I slide to the floor gracelessly, and I let the tears come. I didn't want to ruin her life. I didn't **plan** on being such a demon. I didn't want this to happen. I didn't want everyone's lives to crumple apart, so why, God, did they, why? I didn't want this; I didn't wish this upon anyone, so why did it have to be like this. Why?

I stay there for a long time.


	16. Part 16

—**Third Wheel—**

**Summary: **

**Created By: **_the color is blinding_

**A/N: **_I'm in a race to finish writing this before my school starts… If it's not finished by August 20 it's never going to be until next summer. But I have high hopes, and have not very many parts left to write. _

_If you think Sam's the only one to be deteriorating, you're wrong… You're going to hate me some more. Tell me what you think in a review, PM, or email. _

_Enjoy~_

_Third Wheel—_

_Part 16_

Falling apart isn't hard. It's the coming back to face the waiting reality that is.

I plan on ignoring Spencer completely when I walk into the house. **That argument didn't happen**. Denial works wonders. If I can make myself believe in something, then everyone else will simply have to work with it.

I walk into Bushwell quietly. Lewbert had been fired months earlier, and the new doorman, Mr. Otten, nods a polite greeting as I walk to the private resident staircase. I key open the door and begin the lonely walk up and up and up.

Each individual step echoes after I continue on to the next one. It's like a symphony of stairs. I can see the headlines now: **Carly Shay and her Spectacular Stair Symphony**.

Playing at all of the local mental hospitals…

The **About the Conductor** section would be the best one out there, because it would be the only one out there. I can see it now.

_Carly Shay was born in Portland, but moved to Seattle, Washington. She is a natural at conducting stair symphonies and is the most unreliable person out there. She betrayed her entire family and her actions almost killed her best friend… That's right! Watch her conduct __**How to Send Your Best Friend to a Loony Bin in D minor, second movement**__ tonight only!_

Here it is. My lonely little apartment. Once full of love, now filled with **hate**.

I linger at the door before walking in. Voices float through the cracks.

"Has she talked to you about her?" It was Spencer.

"Yeah. I got mad at her, and haven't talked to her since. Why has she suddenly just decided that she needs to talk about her? It's not like her."

Freddie.

"She's been too much of a ghost recently. I'm worried about her. She hardly eats anything, and she's kind of wasting away."

"It's about time she felt regret for what she did. She hardly even **thought** about it until randomly today."

"I think she's stressed, you can't blame her—"

"**Can't blame her**? Of course I can! She sent Sam off to some damn mental institute without any sort of second thought, and she was all happy, but now she's all depressed and moping about and, God, I just honestly **hate** it. Spencer, you can't ignore the fact that Carly is a bitch."

I can't bear the silence any more. My own brother is talking about me to **Freddie Benson**, who I had never heard swear in my entire life until now. What is happening to this world? Spencer can't agree, he can't.

"I know it's true. I just don't want it to be."

My heart—or what remains of my heart—shatters into oblivion. I barge in through the door, tears welling up in my eyes, push past them, and rush up to my room, and immediately lock the door behind. Spencer is ramming his fist into it.

"Carly! Let me in, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it!"

"Tell your lies to someone else, Spencer! Leave me alone!" I scream, while struggling to push my dresser in front of the door in case he used the master key.

That done, I made my way into the bathroom, locked **that** door as well, and sat myself down on the toilet lid, and finally, graciously, let the tears come.

I finally understand what Sam had felt like. She had only wanted to escape, but why did I have to pretend to save her? She just wanted to leave, and now… now I understand those feelings.

I see my shaving razor sitting on the shower's tub lip. I pick it up and immediately, impulsively, rip open the soft skin near my elbow. I drop the razor, gasping for breath.

Oh, God, that was stupid. That was so stupid. Those stupid little books about cutting don't mention that it freaking **hurts** like heck. What sort of relief comes from cutting open your own body? None whatsoever.

I want to scream because it hurts so badly. I squeeze my wrist and now the tears are of pure physical pain. I rock myself back and forth, and finally, after what seems like a forever, get the strength to stand up, and find a stupid looking band-aid to smother on top of it.

I'm not going to be trying that again.


	17. Part 17

—**Third Wheel—**

**A/N: **_Oh hello. See you've decided to drop back in on our lovely little mess. Did you do so happily? Perhaps so. But your intention was to see if this would finally all come together, that maybe it would end better. Well then. I suppose I would just cut to the chase, if I was any bit decent. Unfortunately for you, I'm not nice to these people. Their lives… well, let's just say that they are going to be taking a turn for the worse. Life isn't going to be pretty._

_I'm iffy on this chapter's turn-out, but I am thinking that perhaps you'll like it. You'll find out why shortly._

_Enjoy~_

_::_

_Third Wheel—_

_Part 17_

**Fresh Courage Take** – it was a summer sleep-away camp theme from a lifetime ago. From when life was reasonable. When it made sense. When it was easy. When it was better.

I was only eleven when I went to that two-week camp. It was okay, I suppose. I had made friends with a nice girl named Beth, who was nice, I guess. I don't really remember what we did at camp, only the theme stuck with me. **Fresh Courage Take**. And then something about "_Be strong, and of a good courage_", which makes no sense to me. Courage is usually good, so why do you need to add in the "good" part in front of it? And the entire **Fresh Courage Take** makes no sense. Fresh courage? How can courage be **fresh**?

Fresh courage** and** good courage. I need both.

::

I pause on the steps, realizing that Freddie is still over. I don't want to make a fool of myself. So I wait for him to leave before bracing Spencer's disappointment that feels regular now.

They're still talking. I can't help but listen in.

"…can't stay there any longer." It's Freddie's voice. "From what you've said, she's not the same, and being at _West Side_ is probably making her depression worse. Can you release her from there?"

"I think so. When do you want to go get her?"

"I'm not sure. My mom has a night shift until three, so I should be good. Let's get Sam now."

"Now? Why **now**? It's eleven at night!"

"Because I don't see why we should wait. Get your keys, and let's go. We can be back by one."

Freddie, I realize, isn't the same person I dated. He's not the same pushover little geek anymore, he's forceful, strong. Oh, God, is it bad that I hate him so much?

I listen to Spencer rummage for his keys, and then I realize finally that yes, they actually are going to go release Sam from _West Side_, and that would ruin everything.

I spring up from my spot on the stairs and run to block the door through which they were just about to go through. "You can't," My voice sounds weak, and I dread their responses.

"You can't stop us, Carly. I swear it, if you try to stop us—" Freddie starts.

Spencer interrupts him smoothly, "Carly, you know that Sam's been in there way too long. Everything is falling apart without her. iCarly is discontinued, you and Freddie hardly even talk, your grades are slipping, you skip school almost every day—"

"So? This has nothing to do with Sam!" I screech.

"This has everything to do with Sam, Carly!" Spencer's voice begins to rise, and I hate seeing him this angry, but I can't let him go.

"So what if it does! Sam ruined our lives! You can't bring her back from that place!"

"**Sam** ruined our lives? So now it's **Sam's** fault?" Freddie's voice is now cold and harsh. "Get real, Carly. This is** your **entire fault!"

"How can you say that?" I scream. "I was only trying to make things better!"

"I pity you, if you think this is better. Move out of the way, Carly. We're going to pick up Sam, and there is nothing you can do to stop us." Freddie glares at me. My shoulders shake unwillingly, and tears, again, begin to fall.

For a long time, we stand there. Spencer, looking regretful and sorry, and Freddie, filled with hatred and harsh anger. Then there was me: falling apart, so confused and…

Words cannot describe what I felt.

But after a lifetime, I finally gain the courage—fresh courage or good courage?—to step aside.

I let them go.

And with them followed my inner turmoil, leaving behind just me. Alone.

Had peace finally come to me, or was I just emotionally exhausted? I wasn't sure.

I felt lighter than I had for weeks, but at the same time, I felt so bitterly cold.


	18. Part 18

—**Third Wheel—**

**Summary: **

**Created By: **_the color is blinding_

**A/N: **_To be frank, I hope you all love this chapter as much as I do. Yes, I'm very, very fond of it. Let me know in a review what you think._

_Enjoy~_

_Third Wheel—_

_Part 18_

It was near midnight when someone knocks on my door. I wasn't asleep, seeing as my nights had grown increasingly more fitful as I continued to stay at _West Side_, so I promptly rose to let the strange visitor inside.

To my surprise, it was Karen. Karen D'Anna. Bulimic. Resident of _West Side_ for 53 days. Sent here because of severe weight loss and of supposed "spiritual inspiration". Or at least that's what is on her record. Karen told me the story. Apparently, she knew that she had a problem, and that her family couldn't help her get over it without causing harm. And her parents knew the same thing. So together they sat down and prayed together with the desire to find a solution. And they settled, unanimously, on _West Side_. However, this story does not explain why Karen was practically unresponsive for the first twenty days of her stay. She insists that she had nothing to say. I personally think she went through a minor clinical depression, knowing that she couldn't help feeling this way. She once told me that she didn't know why she felt so horrible, because she knew she shouldn't. I told her that it was to be expected. She didn't respond, lost in thought. Or as she insists, lost in prayer.

Karen's breathing is heavy, and she's pale, looking like she just ran a long ways.

"What's going on?" I say, wrapping my robe around my body tighter.

"Sam," she says between gasps. "She's—"

She breaks off into severe coughing, unable to continue. But I don't need any more information. "Where is she?" I demand.

"Her room—" she starts, but I'm already gone.

**Shit**. Karen was supposed to tell me when Sam planned to commit suicide, so I could alert the rest of the staff. Now I'm probably going to be fired for keeping Sam's condition a secret, even though I had been forbidden to talk to her.

As I'm turning the corner to the dormitory hallways, I see the nurse call button on the wall. I slam my fist into it multiple times before continuing on my way.

I run gracelessly into Sam's room and stop dead in my tracks. In front of me, if in a different situation, would have been a comical event. There, lying on the floor, is a girl, who has a plastic Wal-Mart bag tied over her head, preventing any sort of air to go in or out.

I fall to the floor, and immediately rip the bag open, half-hoping that she'll suddenly come back to life, that she'll be okay, but mad, but nevertheless still alive. I feel for a pulse, and to my utter dismay, I find none. Shit. Karen must have taken way too long to get to me. It would have taken about less than a minute if she was heavily breathing for Sam to run out of air. A minute then to lose consciousness, and then after that, around three minutes roughly—very roughly—to lose brain function. That's five minutes. Five minutes. Usually after eight minutes one dies. It probably has been six minutes for Karen to come get me, and for me to arrive here.

I don't hesitate at all to begin CPR. Lay body flat on the ground, tilt chin back, open mouth, pinch nose, breathe twice into mouth. Even breaths.

The nurses finally arrive—and they swarm around me as I begin the compressions.

One two three four five six…

One nurse has the intelligence to get a wheeled stretcher. She begins to set it up.

…twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.

I finish the compressions, and step aside to let the nurses take over. More come flooding in and they cart Sam away to the emergency hospital wing. I shouldn't follow, but I have to see if she'll live. I have to see if Sam will be okay….

I watch as the nurses hook Sam up to various machines and I study the cold flat line of her heartbeat knowing that, damnnit, I should have told the other doctors that I should have put Sam on Suicide Watch, and shit this is all my fault if she dies.

A doctor comes up behind me. Shit. I have to tell him everything. It would be worse if I didn't. Oh** shit**.

A nurse fires the defibrillator. Nothing on the screen changes.

I turn to face his ugly warty face and everything spills out. How I told Karen D'Anna to spy on Sam, how I wanted to fix this myself, no—how I thought I could fix this myself, and how I violated the order to never speak or be in the proximity of Sam again, and how it was all my fault. It took fourteen seconds.

"Thank you for telling us that, Doctor…?"

"Doctor Lewis. Emily Lewis."

The defibrillator fires again.

"I'm Doctor Kleaggy, the head of emergency medicine—"

"Doctor?" One shouts. He nods. Immediately, the nurses shock Sam's limp body again.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Lewis, but you're going to be fired as soon as administration finds out about this… fiasco," Doctor Kleaggy turns to face the girl.

I nod solemnly. I knew it was going to happen.

It fires a fourth time.

And then, the machinery captures our eyes.

Slowly, the flat line begins to move.

And Samantha Puckett was brought back from the dead.


	19. Part 19

—**Third Wheel—**

**A/N: **_To let you know, every part from thirteen to the end (excluding the epilogue) all happened on the same day. Chronologically, it goes: 14, 15, 16, 17, 13, 18, and then this part. The rest happen in order of posting. _

_After life, comes death. _

_Enjoy~_

_Third Wheel—_

_Part 19_

It's nearing two in the morning, and still they haven't returned from _West Side_. I hesitatingly turn on the news, determined not to go to bed until Spencer comes back. The newscaster looks too awake at this ridiculous hour. Personally, it was a stupid idea to have late-late-late night news, but right now, I have to admit, it is kinda handy.

The newscaster looks exhausted, which doesn't help the fact that yes, it is two in the morning. And that Spencer and Freddie should have been back an hour ago.

The news is the same as usual. A few people died in New York because of some crazy murderer. Some boats collided in the San Francisco bay, leaking all sorts of debris. Why can't the news tell you what good has happened in this world? Why does everyone focus on the bad?

I turn the channel to some sitcom, mute it, and just watch the picture change on the screen. So much has changed today. At school, I fell apart, ditched, fell apart again, ran to Sam's house, fell apart once more, and then came back. Fell apart. Pulled myself together, then shouted. And then… finally, I have come to a shaky peace with myself.

No, I haven't forgiven myself for banishing Sam off to some mental institution without her will, and no, I don't know how I was able to force Spencer to agree with me to do so, and yes, I don't know how Sam will act when she's back here. Will she hate me? Or will she forgive me? Will she fall back into her suicidal tendencies just as quickly as before? Is this really the right thing to do? Should I call Spencer and tell him that Sam will just get worse if she doesn't get treatment? What other options of treatment are available for Sam, besides permanent residency? Can we work through this together, or will it be better for me to retain a distance from Sam?

Despite having so much clarity open up in my life, I am still so confused, and so lost in this world. I trapped myself in a prism of regret, hatred, and anger, exiled myself from everyone I had loved. I had ruined so much good in our lives, and no joy had come into it. Until now. I can finally start over. I can finally renew my relationship with Sam, and hopefully, everything will be okay.

I'm just about to fall asleep, when around two forty-five, the phone rings shrilly.

I force myself off of my bed and answer it sleepily. "Hello?" I mumble after a yawn.

The person's voice on the other end is alert, obviously awake. "Is this Carly Shay?"

"Yes? May I ask who's calling?"

"Officer Steward from the SPD. We found this number on a phone at the accident, and we identified your name as his sister."

"Wait, **what**? What on earth are you talking about? Accident?" I'm suddenly not so tired anymore.

"There has been a car accident off of Highway 99, involving Spencer Shay's Suzuki Reno and an unidentifiable semi truck. Your brother, and his friend, Fredward Benson, died at approximately 11:45 last night. It was fast and most likely they did not feel any pain. I'm sorry we were not able to contact your sooner…" his words collapse into nonsense.

"You're lying! Spencer and Freddie aren't dead! What are you talking about? Is this some kind of sick prank call?" The words come out of my mouth unbidden. Who is this person talking?

"No, I'm sorry, Ms. Shay, but Spencer Shay and Fredward Benson are really, and truly dead. They were—" his words fade away. The world stops.

I drop the phone.

It falls to the ground, echoing through the suddenly cold, unwelcoming apartment.

The man still is talking, but I can't hear his words. The world spins, and all sorts of emotions, indescribable emotions that I hate, rise up to the surface and-

I crumble to the tile floor, tears welling up **again** and they can't stop they won't stop and oh God why was I so stupid why did I let them go why didn't I tell them to go tomorrow—that tomorrow it wouldn't be dark and it would be bright and then it would have been better, and Sam could have seen the light instead of the darkness and maybe perhaps it would be better and oh God no no no no no no no why are they dead why couldn't it have been me?

"Hello? Ms. Shay? Are you still there?"

God, why didn't I kill myself last night? Then Spencer and Freddie wouldn't have gone, and they would have still be alive, and why why why why why didn't I stop them?

I can't stay here anymore. No no no no no I can't I can't I have to leave—does Mrs. Benson know? I should tell her, not some creep on the phone.

The apartment fades behind me, and somehow it turns into the Benson's and then here I am and Mrs. Benson is holding me and we're crying and crying and oh God it hurts so much it hurts so much it just hurts so much and no no no I'm never seeing them again. I never even told them I loved them…

And then sleep cradles me and everything would have faded to black except I can't close my eyes, because every time I do I see their faces and suddenly I know that life is about to get worse and—

Oh God, why did I let Sam become the third wheel?

We were doing so well before. But then I ruined everything.

And now they're dead too—and now part of me is gone also.

And I'm so empty.

And so **cold**.


	20. Part 20

—**Third Wheel—**

**Created By: **_the color is blinding_

**A/N: **Sam would like to speak to you now. I realize that most of you actually think that this story goes on for much longer. But let me tell you a secret. It doesn't. I LOVE YOU GUYS! WE BROKE 100! :) I'm going to stop gabbering and actually let you read, so here you go. Enjoy~

* * *

T_hird Wheel—_

_Part 20_

When people talk about death, they say everything is black.

"And it went black."

"All she saw was black."

But they know nothing.

Nothing at all.

When I died for the second time, I saw a white vineyard.

Again.

Unending

Blinding

**Pure **

White

Maybe that's where they got "light" from—the whiteness.

"Don't go toward the light!"

That's also wrong.

It should be, don't go toward the person you loved, who is lost.

Because they're there.

And they're waiting for you.

You knock upon the only building's door.

And they open it.

They call to you, and they hold out a hand.

**Come to me**.

And since you love them, you trust them.

And since they're dead too, you figure you are also.

So you go happily into their waiting arms.

And everything is peaceful.

Except I was torn away.

Ripped from his arms.

And was brought back.

Into life.

I came back from the dead.

The first time I died, I saw my mom. She was there, and she was happy.

Dressed in all white.

"We've been waiting for you."

She said that to me.

This time, I saw Freddie.

I didn't bother to think that he was still alive, but I fell into his outstretched arms.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

He told me that.

And I was happy.

**I should have known it couldn't last. **

Then comes the same white fading wind as before.

It whips across the strange world.

Freddie had smiled.

And then he was gone.

And I was so alone.

So bitterly alone.

And so** cold. **

::

I open my eyes to see into an unknown warty doctor.

His eyes are filled with sympathy and innocent pity.

"Samantha?"

He talks quietly.

I close my eyes tightly.

No.

**It didn't work.**

"Samantha?" He repeats himself.

Shit. I groan.

"Samantha, I'm Doctor Kleaggy."

Where am I?

"You're in the hospital wing at _West Side_, Samantha. You tried to kill yourself, but you're safe now. There's no one here who wants to hurt you.'

Goddamn you, you fucking son-of-a-bitch! What the hell were you thinking? I **wanted** to die, idiot!

He's taken aback.

I don't care.

"Samantha, you were confused. You didn't know what you're thinking," He speaks carefully now.  
Scared.

Of course I knew what I was damn well thinking! You ruined **everything**! Now I'm going to have to go back to that shit hole and spend the rest of my damned life in prison.

"No you won't. Your legal guardian does have the power to remove you from _West Side Ocean View Psychiatric Hospital._"

Shit. My guardian is over the damn seas.

"Then I suppose you'll have to wait until he returns. Do you know when that is, Samantha?"

Hell, no. I haven't even met the damn guy.

"Samantha, if you don't stop your swearing, I'll have to call security."

Sorry. I'm just so **mad**. You have no idea what you did to me, do you?

"I saved your life, Samantha. That's my job."

I didn't want my life to be saved. Just go away now. Please. Leave me alone.

"As you wish, Samantha. I'm sorry for upsetting you. But you cannot run away from your problems through death. You just create more and more, and eventually everything comes crashing down."

He leaves.

That's so funny it hurts.

I roll over.

And try to escape.

::

I hardly can tell the difference between waking and sleeping anymore.

::

I'm back in the prison again.

And I wake up to see brown eyes.

"Sam! You're awake!"

Really? I had no idea.

Doctor Lewis sighs with sweet relief.

"We were so worried."

I manage to crack a feeble smile. I don't think I can die, Doctor Lewis.

Her wry smile peeks out from behind her calm mask. But it's gone before I can even recognize it.

I sit up in the bed. This is the ICU of the juvenile ward.

I hate it already.

"Sam, I have something to tell you. It may be… something you don't want to hear."

Well, waking up to have someone tell me I wasn't dead wasn't exactly tea and sugar cookies. I think I've gotten it pretty bad.

Doctor Lewis sighs.

"Firstly, I've been fired. I'm seeing you here as a vistor. I'm going to go open up a clinic near Yakima in a week or two, once I get the money."

"Secondly,"

She pauses.

"There… has been an accident, concerning people you know."

What?

"A relative of yours, and his friend, were killed in a car crash the same night you attempted suicide. They were coming to pick you up, to release you from _West Side_."

More urgently. Confused. Angry: What?

"Spencer Shay, and Freddie Benson. They died three nights ago in a car crash, around midnight. They were coming here to release you when they died."

You're lying. What is this, some cruel joke?

Panic.

No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no **no**.

**This can't be happening to me**.

**This can't be happening to me. **

**No.**

"I'm not lying, Sam. They're dead. Mr. Shay, your legal guardian, is flying back in two months time…"

Words have no meaning anymore.

All that is left is me.

All alone, and empty, and cold.

Why?

What happens next is a blur.

I remember screaming.

Hitting Doctor Lewis, who ran away.

Getting secured to the bedside so I can't move.

Then choking on my tears.

The tears.

They didn't stop coming.

They're gone.

Gone.

**They're dead.**

**I tried to kill myself the same night they were going to release me.**

**I failed at dying, when they succeeded—and they hadn't even tried to.**

**No no no no no no no no no no no no no**

_**This can't be happening to me.**_

_**I am so bitterly alone.**_

_**And so **_cold_**. **_


	21. Epilogue

Oh my. **This is it.** This is the end. If it was too soon, sorry if you're disappointed, but this is what it is. This is the last time I'll be able to say "enjoy" with a funky little squiggly at the end. Until my next story. Sniff. So, everyone, please, go check out the poll on my profile and give me your thoughts (if in need of more detail, or just to re-emphasize your point) in either a PM, email (on my profile, please go right ahead, as its a special fanfiction email I created specifically for this usage), or review, and pretty please, all of you that have alerted this story, I'd love to hear what you have had to think about this story. It doesn't take long, but the feeling it gives one is forever. But if not, I understand completely, and I thank each and every one of you for taking the time out of your lives to read about a silly story that I wrote late at night. Let me know if you think it's good or not, but I only want one thing: that you have enjoyed. Speaking of that, I'll let you read the end of Third Wheel. _Because all things have to come to an end sometime_. Enjoy~

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_Third Wheel—_

_Epilogue_

It's raining slowly and peacefully, like it usually does at this time of year. The streets are draining slower than usual however, creating small murky black iridescent ponds, mixed with grime, oil, and paint. They litter the street sides and parking lots, and one can't help remembering those times when they were younger and they used to play in them carelessly.

A clean-shaven man is driving a small car hesitantly and cautiously, almost as if he was trying to run through deep water: deliberate and painfully slow. The road he is following takes him outside of the city, and snakes north beside the ocean. Although the views are breath taking, he doesn't even give them a second glance. His dark eyes have equally dark bags, and are stained red with past tears. His drive is silent, and the only sound he hears is of his own breathing, rain pattering quickly onto the window shield, and the quiet rumble of the car he is handling.

He flicks on his blinker, and turns onto a single lane street. The rain slowly fades away as he drives closer to the rocky coast. Mist takes its place.

The road ends in a parking lot, and in front of him is a large, sprawling gray building, with the words carved into a large slab of stone, _West Side Ocean View Psychiatric Hospital._ He parks the car carefully, and, after pulling an umbrella out from underneath the seat, steps out of the car and walks toward the main entrance.

The door twinkles too cheerfully as he enters into the hospital. He looks about, and, after finding a sign pointing him in the right direction, begins a long, solemn walk down a wide hallway, painted with almost sickening colors. He opens the door into the Juvenile Ward, and looks about him.

A receptionist that is sitting behind her desk looks up at the bell tinkle. She beckons to the man.

"How can I help you?" she asks.

"I'm here to release Samantha Puckett… I'm Steven Shay," He explains.

She flips through a mess of papers, and grins. "She's been expecting you. She's in the visiting room, hasn't left since she heard she was being released. Samantha's a little trouble maker, but I suspect you would know that."

Shay threads his hand through his hair. "I wish I had."

The receptionist wilts visibly. "You'll need to fill out these papers for her release to be official."

Shay fills them out with a monotonous hand, nods good-bye, and then begins the walk to visiting room. He tips his hat to the security guard, who lets him pass through the metal detectors after Shay shows him that he has appropriate clearance.

Shay looks around, and there, in the corner, is a small, blonde girl. She's slouching into her red chair, trying to become invisible. Even from the distance, Shay immediately knows that she's been trying not to cry.

Shay steps forward, nervous for the first time, and sighs heavily. He takes off his hat, and begins to walk toward the little girl, realizing how small and insecure she really is.

He pauses for a second in front of the girl before greeting her.

She looks up before he can have a chance. "What do you want?"

Shay's eyes soften. "I want to make this right."

Her hands shake with what Shay thinks is grief. "Who are you?" her voice cracks.

"I'm Steven Shay."

She can't hold back the tears any more. They come quickly and easily, and she doesn't attempt to try to brush them away. Shay can't help but admire her courage. Her shoulders shake, and Shay feels a bit awkward yet proud to be around this incredibly free spirit.

Shay finally resorts to giving the girl a pitiful hug, and she in response throws her arms around him, even though they have never even met.

"Does it hurt?" she murmurs between sobs.

Shay sighs. "Every single second. I miss Spencer, I miss Freddie… and I miss Carly. I miss them all so **much** it **aches** like someone is ripping my heart out."

"Then try to imagine what I feel like. **I** am the reason they're gone. **I **am the reason Carly left Seattle to live up in Yakima… **I** am the reason everything in everyone's lives have gone wrong."

She speaks with a soft, sensitive, tear-stricken voice; Shay can hardly hear it over the air conditioning. He can't match this broken songbird in front of him to the loud, boisterous blue jay he was told of by his children.

Shay blinks back a wave of sudden heartache. "Sam, this isn't your fault. If it is anyone's, it's mine. I wasn't there when my family needed me most. I wasn't there when Carly needed me, and—"

He breaks off, his chest trembling with the weight of the tears on his heart. She doesn't question his pause, but simply listens with open ears and a deep caring soul.

"I wasn't there when my wife, Lisa, needed me," he says quietly. "She committed suicide, and I wasn't there in time. Carly only wanted what was best for you—she only did what she knew I would have done for Liz… I wish I could take away your pain. Trust me, I know what you're feeling."

"I don't understand why this hurts so much. I—I've lived my entire life with pain, and I don't know who I'd be without it. But… but this is the worst, knowing that I'm the reason this all happened. Knowing that if I had made a different choice, I'd still be happy, and so would Carly, Freddie, and Spencer. Mr. Shay, I ruined everything…"

Her tears overtake her.

"We can work through this together, Sam. I'm here for you. We can make our lives better, one step at a time."

"But we'll never be able to make their lives better. They're never going to have a second chance. I don't see why** I** was given one."

Shay looks down. "Maybe it was because you have to complete something in your life, your purpose wasn't fulfilled. Spencer and Freddie did what they were supposed to do, but you, and Carly, still have many years ahead, and you both still have many things to do in this life."

"You really believe in that nonsense?"

Shay grins through his tears. "Yes, I do. It gives me hope on the days like these, when it seems like there is nothing to look forward to."

Sam blinks carefully. "I don't know about you, but I'd look forward greatly to getting out of this place, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. Let's get you home." Shay leads the younger girl out through the double doors, and down the hallway.

It's raining outside, and Sam smiles broadly, ignoring Shay's offered umbrella. She runs out into the parking lot and dances in the rain, relishing her first time out in fresh air for a long time. She falls into the pavement gracefully, and sighs with relief, as rain sweeps over her, making her tears seem like raindrops, making symbols of sorrow into symbols of joy.

Shay watches her, feeling like he doesn't belong there, watching her simple ritual of relief and joy and grief.

"We better be going," she says when she is finished. She walks over to the sole car in the visitor's lot and waits by the door.

He unlocks the car, and they both get in quickly, and they drive away, leaving behind the girl's prison.

::

Two months pass, and the sorrow is slowly ebbing away. There are days when it hurts so bad, all they can do is lay in bed crying, and others, they hardly even can tell. They moved out of the apartment, where the memories were too fresh, into a small little condo out in the suburbs.

Shay is driving Sam to have a tour of her new high school one hot July morning. They turn the corner into the school parking lot, and park. Shay is just stepping out of the car; Sam is still buckled, when, out of nowhere, a SUV hurdles directly into the driver's side of the car. The car flips, and Sam, albeit bruised and in pain and confusion, survives.

Shay is a different story.

He's rushed to the emergency room, where the doctors do everything in their abilities to try and save his life.

But it slips away.

And he's gone.

::

The funeral is surprisingly large. Military friends, distant relatives, and even the doctors who failed to save his life show up. Sam knows that somewhere, Carly is in the crowd gathered to pay their humble last minute respects. Why she wasn't closer to the front, why she wasn't mourning publicly is a mystery to Sam, but she doesn't think twice. Gratefully, Sam manages to avoid her until the end of the simple ceremony.

But she knew it was inevitable. For the first time in a year and a half, Sam meets up with Carly.

Carly's brown eyes are swollen with tears, matching Sam's almost perfectly except for in color.

"I am so sorry."

Those are the only words needed to make a small flicker of friendship kindle in shaky existence.

Carly's grandpa decides to take Sam under his wing out of respect for the passed Steven Shay, who was kindhearted, gentle, and, as Sam liked to say, her hero. They return to Yakima, where Carly vows to never hurt anyone again.

Sam never manages to fully come to terms with Shay's death, and she never fully forgives Carly. Carly and Grandpa Shay finally convince Sam to go to Carly's grief therapist as well to help her overcome her unending misery Coincidentally, the therapist she goes to is the same Dr. Lewis she knew before. Dr. Lewis is happy with her new profession, happy that she feels that she can finally help people to the best of her capabilities. However, Sam's agony is still lingering, and her only source of strength in these days is remembering that she has lived with unbearable pain before, so she can do it again.

Every now and then her mind slips back into its old ways, and thoughts of suicide spring up unwelcomed. But every time one does, she forces herself to think of what happened the last time she decided to try to kill herself, and she cries for hours alone, locked in her room.

Slowly, and in strange lurches and drags, time passes, but no one is sure how. Sam graduates from high school with honors, to the surprise of everyone, and goes off to be successful in college, majoring in grief counseling. She marries a kind man who loves her for who she is, and she finally finds a place in this world where she is accepted unconditionally. She gives birth at the age of 27 to a daughter, who she names Faith.

Carly stays in Yakima for the remainder of her life, and although Sam occasionally speaks with her, contact is limited, as every conversation they had would somehow turn to those who had passed on.

When Carly tells Sam that she's diagnosed with cancer, Sam immediately drops everything she is doing and flies to Yakima to spend Carly's last days with her. For two long months, Carly holds onto life, and together they attempt to make right what was wrong.

But no one can live forever. Carly passes on at the age of 32.

Sam attends the funeral, and returns to her home in Vermont. She is emotionally exhausted, and her family does the best they can to try and comfort her.

Eventually she manages to resume normal life, but she can never forget her emotional scars.

She never planned on being the last one standing, the sole remaining member of the famous iCarly team. She had planned to be the first one gone, to leave behind Earth and its strong emotions and tragic stories.

Her plan didn't go as she had intended, but instead it opened up an entirely different world to her. Out of the tragedy came new lives and a strong hope for a better future. Although Sam never put behind the past, she looked ahead, and managed to what was once depressing into something marvelous.

The sunset is even brighter than the sunrise.

—_The End_


End file.
